His emotions were churning inside of him, so many that he didn't know which one to feel above the other. The subtle line of hatred which had always been there still was, presently strengthened by his anger. But with it came a certain helplessness, frustraition, hope and pain.
He had spent so much time pushing the other away, he didn't know what to do now that the other didn't want to be pushed away.
His first failure, the loss of that friendship before it started, it had created that first thread hatred.
But even hatred was not strong enough to stop the other feeling that had come upon him.
Over the years, a grudging respect. An attraction to character, to skill, and finally to the person himself.
That had strengthened his resolve to dislike Potter even more, but at moments like this his emotions ran too strong and he didn't know what to do with himself.
It had been horrifying, that first moment when he'd brushed his hand against Potter's during an arugment, and a heat had run through him. He'd denied it as strongly as he could, still did, and refused to believe that he could feel anything for anyone.
He had prided himself on being able to handle himself alone. There were those that he would put up with, but no one that he would become dependant on. A Malfoy wasn't dependant on anyone. It was good only to make friendships when it would benefit you, and after Potter's refusal, there wasn't really anyone else in Hogwarts that mattered.
But there were moments at night, and even during the day, when his mind would stray and he couldn't stop himself from noticing that Potter had grown so they stood eye-to-eye. Noticing that those eyes were clear and warm, the color of freshly cut jade. Potter wasn't elegant in the least, but he held himself proudly all the same. The line of his mouth was often softened by a smile, and the mop of ruffled hair on his head begged to be pet into place.
Draco swore under his breath as he threw himself down onto his bed, glaring up at the ceiling. He had finished his homework last night, and now realized that he should of left some to lose himself in. As it was, he had nothing to do but think, and he didn't like the trail his thoughts were leading him down.
He resented those who had made friends with Potter. He hated the fact that they could make him smile so easily, that they could talk to him so casually, and that there was such an obvious care between them.
Draco turned onto his side, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. What had happened so suddenly that Potter would ask such personal questions, as if he actually gave a damn what was going on in Draco's life? One day, Harry couldn't stand him, the next his eyes looked so concerned that Draco almost couldn't stand it.
Everything had been so muddled up by this stupid Sarcio spell. Draco had been contented with the life that he had, and now it had been ripped out from under his feet. He didn't know where he stood right now. He couldn't even cast a damned simple light spell without Harry's aid, and that made him dependant.
His father had known. The moment Draco had meantioned that they'd learned it, his father had been suspicious of his meeker behaviour. That, of course, had been the reason for the 'skill test'. Malfoy had performed horribly compared to the past, and his father had known that he was relying on someone else to help him with his magic. He could only be thankful that his father hadn't directly spoken of it, otherwise Draco might of had to tell him that he was joined with Potter.
His father had had a plan, all those years ago. Draco hadn't questioned him on it, but he knew there was a reason why his father wanted him to make friends with Potter. That was obvious enough in the smack he'd been given for failing so miserably.
His father wasn't fond of physical punishment. Usually Draco would be stuck having to dust all of the books in their extensive library or something equally mundane. But those times when he'd failed so obviously, such as every instance where he got his ass kicked by Potter in Quiddich again and again, he could see his father's anger boil over and would need to use a spell to hide the bruises that would inevitably form the next day.
Love was not something tangible in the Malfoy family. There was too much pride, too strong of egos. And so Draco did his absolute best to keep his secrets his own. He kept his mouth shut when he needed to, and trusted only those that he had to. He refused to be the weak link in the Malfoy chain, despite the emotions which assulted him.
Dreams were one thing. He would never allow them to become reality. He couldn't possibly, because it would only prove, yet again, how weak he was. It was bad enough as it was, that he found Harry's quiet presence in the back of his mind so comforting.